


Bishop; Model 341-B

by fakebodies



Category: Aliens (1986)
Genre: Angst, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Possibly Unrequited Love, everyone’s dead and nobody’s happy; a continuing theme in my Alien/Aliens fics, this is just sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-05
Updated: 2018-09-05
Packaged: 2019-07-07 05:21:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15901704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fakebodies/pseuds/fakebodies
Summary: Hicks doesn’t think God gives a shit about Hadley’s Hope.





	Bishop; Model 341-B

_“Bishop? Are you alive?”_

_“Different Bishop.”_

It was easy enough to move on from that in the moment- he had other things to focus on. Marines that needed saving, bugs that needed killing. It was simple, falling back into the routine. Hicks had always been good at playing soldier. That wasn’t the problem.

The problem came when he was alone. When he had time to think about what he’d seen. What had happened. He’d felt hope flare up for the first time in… since he sent the distress call before finally letting himself rest- letting Ripley get him into a hypersleep chamber. He’d figured everything would be fine. Ripley and Newt were safe, his burns were cleaned and bandaged, and they had Bishop’s legs. They wound up so goddamn far from fine.

Worst thing was, he could talk about missing the rest of his squad with the USCM shrink. He could talk about Hudson, Frost, Dietrich- hell, he could even cry about them, but as soon as the word “Bishop” left his mouth he got weird looks. Nobody misses the doll. You can replace a synthetic without much effort. He made sure he cried about Bishop when he was alone, stopped bringing him up altogether. It made the shrinks more comfortable.

He doesn’t feel right, living. Living with marines. Living with other Bishop models. Living without his brothers and sisters. His team. Friends. Family. He remembers all of them promising they’d take Bishop on shore leave next time- seeing the synthetic’s polite smile, the closest Bishop ever got to excitement. He might’ve seen Hudson kiss Bishop once, and was he jealous? Of which one of them? Lance was just a doll, after all. Easy to replace, and easy to confuse. Hicks has stopped calling him Bishop in his head. He sees too many Bishops now for it to make sense.

He survives for a while- he likes to think he does a pretty good job of it, but there’s no real routine. Even if he was assigned to another squad, he wouldn’t want to fight anymore. He doesn’t think he has it in him. When he puts in for time off-planet, he can only imagine the higher-ups are elated to have him out of their hair. No one asks where he’s planning to go. He doesn’t know what he’d say if they did.

Hicks hadn’t ever planned to go back to Hadley’s Hope, had never wanted to. Still, he needed this. Needed to see if his hunch was right. He works his way through the rubble of the abandoned Wey-Yu facility until he finds him- Lance, mangled and abandoned in a scrap heap. Whatever Weyland had wanted from him, he’d apparently found it. Hicks sits, brushing his knuckles against the deceased synthetic’s cheek. He thinks he’s mourned Bishop enough to call him deceased. He fucking hates hearing “nonfunctional.”

Trying to dig a hole without the right tools turns out to be hell, but it’s worth it to give Lance a proper burial. He carves Bishop’s full name on the piece of scrap he drives into the ground. Hicks is pretty certain the headstone won’t last long, but it’s the thought that counts. He tosses the makeshift shovel aside and closes his eyes. He’d been trying to claw his way into a routine ever since he was rescued, but now he finds himself slipping back with ease.

The gun is clean and loaded. The barrel is smooth, the metal cold. He cocks it, takes a deep breath, and squeezes the trigger.

Hicks doesn’t think God gives a shit about Hadley’s Hope. He’s not in heaven.

He’s nonfunctional.


End file.
